“To the determined ballerina I have the privilege of calling my sister, may all your dreams come true.”
A smile spreads across her face as she clinks her glass against mine. Before she can take a sip, I press a kiss to her cheek.
“Proud of you, Vi,” I murmur.
“Happy Birthday, Bug,” Rocco adds.
And just like that, I’m forgotten.
She turns to look at him and he winks at her before finishing off his drink.
“We’ll celebrate at the club,” he promises, setting his empty glass on top of the bar. I bite my tongue, letting the sharp threat that sits on the tip of it die and I signal for the bartender. Handing her my credit card, I tell her to keep a tab open for Violet.
Rocco clears his throat.
“He’s here,” he says, looking down at his phone.
“Who?” Violet asks.
“No one,” I reply. “We won’t be long. Stay out of trouble and don’t move from this fucking chair.”
“You know, I was just starting to like you again.”
“I mean it, Vi. Stay put.”
“Fine, but don’t be long. I want to dance.”
Shaking my head, I follow Rocco away from the bar, down a narrow hallway that leads to the back of the restaurant and a room reserved for private parties.
“How much trouble do you think she can get into in the time it takes for Victor to eat a porterhouse?” I question.
Rocco’s lips quirk as we reach the room. He pauses, turning to me.
“You don’t want to hear this, but I’m gonna say it anyway so maybe you get used to the idea . . . I’m gonna marry her.”
“The hell you are.”
“You’ll see.”
CHAPTER 7
JOAQUIN
Victor Pastore made an art of everything he did and eating dinner was no exception. He cut into his steak with precision and savored each bite as though it was his last. I sat there watching him, barely touching my food, wondering how long he had left.
“Quit looking at me like I’m going to drop dead and plant my face in the mashed potatoes,” he grunts, startling me. I lift my head and go to apologize, but his focus isn’t on me.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Vic,” Rocco says, drawing his attention back to his piece of filet mignon. “I just can’t believe you’re sick and not doing anything about it,” he continues. “If you taught me anything, it’s to fight until the end and here you are?— ”
“If you’re going to playback my words, make sure you have them right, Rocco. I don’t like to be misquoted. Yes, a man should fight until the end, but it depends on what he’s fighting for. I might not be fighting cancer, but I’m fighting for my family, for my wife and my girls, and that’s why I’m here with you.”
He sets his fork and knife down and pushes his plate away from him. His eyes move from Rocco to me and back.
“By now, the both of you have heard what happened at my opening in New York,” he begins and I look toward Rocco, hoping he wasn’t too drunk to remember the conversation we had last week when I informed him of the latest situation to hit the Pastore organization.
Victor was expanding and decided to open a nightclub in Manhattan. His late underboss’s son had recently found himself in some trouble after his mom passed, and in true Victor fashion, he took Michael Valente in, brought him back to New York, and hooked him up as the manager of the club.
For weeks, Victor and Anthony Bianci fitted Mike for his new role and on opening night, just as he was settling into life with the mob, gunfire broke out. I never got the logistics of everything because, again, just an associate, but word on the street was a mob war was brewing. Victor had his daughters go into hiding while he took care of the situation and seeing as he’s here and not in New York fucking people up, I’m gonna say he handled it.
